


For Once

by teamcharm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Confession, M/M, Post-Time Skip, dorothea and manuela show up briefly but it doesnt rlly matter, i did not know they had a ship week and now that i know i went wild, linspar....they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamcharm/pseuds/teamcharm
Summary: He could not swing an axe with confidence the way Caspar did, he could not cast a spell with the elegance and ferocity that Dorothea did, he could not dance with a sword the way Petra did. Linhardt was just a healer. He stayed far from the front lines.Yet.Yet...Caspar. Caspar made him want to run, run into the front lines.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	For Once

**Author's Note:**

> SO!!! I did not know it was Linspar week!!! Thank you kings for inventing love. But anyways I really wanted to contribute to this week, and I got an idea yesterday so I wanted to really write it so I've been writing all day.
> 
> This is probably all I'll do for the week, but I wanted to contribute because I love best friends. love them so much
> 
> Prompt is healing / protection. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Linhardt was not a reckless person.

Or he thought so at least. Maybe one might call him reckless for breaking into the Holy Mausoleum for research purposes, or to wield a heroes’ relic without having the compatible crest for it for research. But to him, recklessness meant little consideration or thought of what’s to come. 

Linhardt always knew what he was getting himself into. He was aware of the dangers and consequences, he after all thought things thoroughly. He considered many variables. It was illogical to head first into something without considering plausible outcomes. He thought about the pros and cons; if the cons wee too long, he simply became disinterested. There were far better uses of his time than chasing after things that hold little interest to him. 

But for once in his life, Linhardt did not think. 

He saw an enemy too close to Caspar, too close with that sharp blade that could cut him in any second. Some sort of panic rose inside of him.

Fear.

He feared for Caspar. 

Oh how he hated the battlefield. The strong sounds of metal clashing, the smell of blood, the cries of those who were dying...it was like an ongoing nightmare for Linhardt. It was a sight he wished he was never subjected to, but war was war. 

It never got easier for him no matter how much time has passed. Some say that once you get used to the fighting, it becomes easier. You become jaded. But Linhardt  _ couldn't _ . He just could not. All Linhardt wanted to do is run. Run away from all of this. He never wanted to stop another foot on soil that was stained with blood. But his feet stayed, stayed on the ground.

The sight of bloodshed made him almost pass out every time. He felt weak. He saw those around him fighting with ease and he couldn’t help but wonder what was different between him and the others. “War is war” someone could say and brush it aside, but he  _ couldn’t _ . Linhardt knew he didn’t belong in this army, yet... he was still here. Was he some sort of masochist? 

Linhardt vividly remembers the first time he killed someone. It was on Harpstring Moon, Imperial year 1180. As his class traveled to Red Canyon alongside with the Knights of Seiros, he felt unsettled. Was it part of his education to kill people? He found the notion sort of odd coming from a church.

Linhardt was not a fighter, Caspar more than enough took that role for the both of them...But when a brigand charged at him, Linhardt out of panic cast a spell. He does not remember what he casted, but he remembered the feeling. For all the times he cast a magic spell, for once his fingers burned. His hand burned. It felt like there were needles sticking into his skin. 

Linhardt was horrified by the sight in front of him. There was a dead body, bleeding, right in front of him. The person made no sign of moving...they were just laying still on the ground. There was a small pool of blood staining the light ground. Logically, he knew it was either him or the brigand, but it didn’t lessen the heavy weight on his chest. He wanted to throw up. 

It never got easier. Not his first kill, not his past kills, and not any of the people he was going to murder in the future. He could calm himself down by saying “You had to do it Linhardt. It was either you or them.” but it does not help the heavy weight in his heart. It does not help the numbness he feels in his hands. It does not help the nightmares he gets. 

Linhardt knew that human life was fragile, he always knew that. As one who was proficient in white magic, and also has a best friend who got into too many fights for his liking, he was more than aware of how fragile their bodies were. Get punched? A bruise. Get stabbed? You bleed. Ingest the wrong thing? Hope that you don’t die. 

But all those were hypotheticals in his mind...he studied white magic and medicine, yet they were just studies. Studies he didn’t think he’d ever use past Caspar getting into another brawl. 

Yet, here they were, five years later fighting in a war. 

Seeing Caspar on the battlefield made anxiety grow within his chest. 

His eyes followed Caspar every time, oh ever so carefully. 

Fear. Fear is what he felt. 

Linhardt knew yelling at Caspar to move out of the way would do little. If anything, it would probably distract him and the enemy would strike him somewhere vital. So instead, he pushed Caspar out of the way. Caspar let out a yelp, but Linhardt had no time to pay attention to him. The side of his body met with the steel of an axe. 

Linhardt did not mean to yell out a scream, but the sound came out of his mouth out of reflex. 

This is, by far, probably the worst idea Linhardt ever had. 

He staggered. The sensation of having something pierce through your skin was a strange one. Linhardt has scraped his knees before, or gotten paper cuts...but the sensation of a weapon intended for killing tearing away at his clothes and skin was more painful than he ever thought it would be. 

The hit took the wind out of him, but Linhardt had no time to think. Linhardt tried to counteract with some sort of wind spell he knew, but he doubts he actually hit anything. 

He could not swing an axe with confidence the way Caspar did, he could not cast a spell with the elegance and ferocity that Dorothea did, he could not dance with a sword the way Petra did. Linhardt was just a healer. He stayed far from the front lines. 

Yet.

Yet...Caspar. Caspar made him want to run, run into the front lines. 

“Linhardt!” He heard a yell. It sounded like Caspar. 

But Caspar did not rush to his side. 

Linhardt’s hand went to his head, massaging his temple. His head was still ringing. Caspar was too loud. Everything was too loud around him. He heard the pang of steel. Another pang. It was sharp, it terribly hurt his ears. 

Linhardt wasn’t the kind of person who got injured. Compared to his friends, his body had little scars. One’s body littered with with little to none scars would suggest that they were good fighters, but that was not the case. It was far from the truth. Linhardt was far aware of his strengths and weaknesses. He was not suited for the battlefield.

He felt pain. His hand went to his side, clutching it in pain. Linhardt feels blood on his hands, and it’s warm. It almost makes him want to throw up. No matter whose blood it is, he cannot stand the sight of it. It clung to his skin. 

Linhardt blinked. His vision went blank, all he could see was darkness. He heard sound around him. He could hear the wind rustling the trees, he could hear the clash of weapons.

He blinked again. It was no longer dark, but everything around him looked like a haze. He could see Caspar’s figure, fighting. 

Is this how he was going to die? 

He almost laughed to himself at his gone wrong intentions.  _ Good plan Linhardt, die so you don’t have to see Caspar die.  _

Another pang echoed through his ears. Linhardt blinked again. Whoever Caspar was fighting, their body collapsed to the ground. He didn’t even bother checking to see if the enemy was truly dead, Caspar was already running to Linhardt. 

His fingers dug into the soil...sleeping on the ground, that’s nothing he hasn’t done before. He wanted to sleep...sleep…

“Linhardt!” Caspar yells with urgency. Linhardt snaps out of his thoughts, and looks toward him. Linhardt wants to respond but he’s tired. He dug further into the soil to stay awake. He felt dirt under his nails, not the most pleasing sensation. 

“Hey Linhardt are you…” Caspar’s breath hitched at the sight of him. Linhardt knew what Caspar wanted to ask, and they both knew the answer was no. He was bleeding heavily. He needed medical attention immediately. 

“Ugh…” is all Linhardt managed to say. 

“Linhardt…” Caspar says his name for the upteemth time. “You’re bleeding.”

Oh Linhardt was quite aware. The blood stuck to his clothes, the smell of blood made him want to throw up, but he didn’t. He simply felt too tired. Too tired to care. He does not respond to Caspar. 

But that doesn’t stop Caspar from talking. “Linhardt!” he yelled out.

“Can you be more quiet,” Linhardt asked, wincing from his voice. Why was it so loud. 

But that complaint fell on deaf ears. “Why did you do that!” Caspar snapped at him. “I had that situation under control and then...you...you--” Caspar did not finish his thought. 

Linhardt thinks Caspar is crying. He is not sure, everything is blurry around him. He cannot see crocodile tears streaming down Caspar’s face, but Linhardt knew him. Caspar’s hands had a death grip on Linhardt’s shoulders. 

“Linhardt you idiot, why...why would you do something so reckless,” Caspar’s voice grew quieter with each word he said. “You always...y-you…” he choked out. 

Maybe if he had the strength, he could have argued with Caspar, or maybe explained to him that this was (supposed to be) the least dangerous outcome in his mind, or maybe he could have said some sort of joke to cheer him up. But Linhardt ignored Caspar’s question. His gaze stayed on the ground. 

Maybe there was some sort of irony in this situation. Linhardt was always the one telling Caspar to be more careful, yet Caspar was the one holding him while he was bleeding. 

“You can’t die...you can’t, you can’t,” Caspar whispered the words in a plea. 

“...nerary.”

“What?” 

“Vulnerary,” Linhardt managed to say the word aloud. 

Linhardt could hear Caspar sniffling. He probably wiped his nose into his clothes like he always did. “R-right, vulneraries!” It sounded like Caspar started rummaging through his belongings. The movements were sloppy, as if Caspar was afraid they were running out of time. “I have one.”

_ Good, _ was what Linhardt wanted to say, but he stayed quiet. He felt dizzy from the blood loss. Did the human body truly have this much blood?

Caspar tapped Linhardt’s shoulder, and he looked up. Caspar was holding a vulnerary, or what he thought was one. “Can you do this Lin?” Caspar asked him.

He wanted to say yes, he had arms, they could move, but they just stayed glued to the ground.

Caspar took that as a no. “Stay with me Linhardt,” Caspar begged him. His hands were shaking. Linhardt thinks he saw fear in Caspar’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure. He was blurry. Linhardt wanted to reassure Caspar, just like how Caspar has many times every time he got into some sort of trouble, but he couldn’t find his voice. His eyelids felt heavy...this isn’t a good time to nap. 

Caspar held the vulnerary to his lips. Linhardt swallowed down the whole medicine, and just for a moment he thought he could breathe again. His vision cleared up a little. Instead of a blue blur that he recognized as his friend, Caspar was in front of him, with his tear stained face. 

“Caspar,” Linhardt finally said.

There was a relieved smile on Caspar’s face. His cheeks were flushed, but Linhardt decided he didn’t like that sight. Crying didn’t suit Caspar, or at least the sad kind of crying induced by Linhardt. If he ever wanted to see Caspar cry because of him, it should be tears of joy. 

“Linhardt...I thought you…” Caspar turned his gaze away from him. 

“I’m here,” Linhardt reassured him. Though for how much longer, he did not know. A healer is quite useless when it came to their own body. “And safe. For now.”

“Okay,” Caspar breathed, “everything is okay,” he told Linhardt, but it sounded more like words Caspar said to make himself feel better. “We’ll get you help. Can you walk? Actually no, let me carry you,” Caspar decided.

But Linhardt interjected before he could pick him up. “That’s nice Caspar, but first, do you know first aid?” Linhardt asked. They were far away from the base, and they were currently in the middle of a battle… It would be unwise for them to return when there were too many unknown variables for their situation. There’s only so many vulneraries Linhardt could drink before they run out and he bleeds to death. A vulnerary was just a bandaid, it could not heal deep gashes like these. 

He knew more than well enough that Caspar would try to fight through soldiers to get him to safety, but Linhardt didn’t want that. He wanted to be this as little headache inducing as possible.

Linhardt did not know why he asked Caspar the question, he knew that the answer was most likely no, but he hoped maybe Caspar learned something within these past five years. Or he learned something from hanging out with Mercedes. He couldn’t always be there to heal his wounds. 

“No, but it’s fine if I just run rig-...” and then it dawned on Caspar. His eyes dropped to Linhardt’s bloody hand, his bloodied clothes that were once green, now stained with scarlet, and the deep gash on the side of his body. “Oh no, oh no, oh no no this isn’t good-”

“Be quiet Caspar...you’re too loud,” Linhardt hushed him. He’ll just have to instruct him. “Apply pressure.”

“-you’re bleeding so much yet I can’t help you. You helped me so many times,” Linhardt placed a hand over Caspar’s mouth, “buti cwand…” Caspar’s muffled words stopped. 

“Apply pressure,” Linhardt repeated again. He removed his hand from Caspar’s face.

“Apply...pressure…” he repeated the words slowly.

“Yes.” Linhardt closed his eyes. “Anything will work. Just apply pressure to the wound.”

“Wait, wait wait Lin,” Caspar started panicking again.

“What,” Linhardt replied lazily. Did he have to apply pressure himself? He was tired. Oh, oh how tired Linhardt was. He wanted to keep his eyes closed…

“Don’t,” Caspar whispered, he almost didn’t catch it,

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t fall asleep…” Caspar’s words lingered.

_ He's afraid I'll die. _

Linhardt usually never listened to others when it came to his sleeping business, but he complied for once. He did not want to lose sight of Caspar. He was afraid what will happen if he did. So, he kept his eyes open. 

“Use your cape,” Linhardt instructed him. Caspar did what Linhardt told him. He hissed in pain when Caspar pressed into the wound. While his expression made him more livelier than he’s been for whatever period of time has passed, Caspar looked at him with worry. 

“Sorry, should I-”

“No. Apply pressure.”

Maybe Linhardt would have preferred to have passed out this moment. The wound obviously hurt. He was not expecting the axe to go this deep into his skin, but it did. Linhardt knew they couldn’t sit around until it stopped bleeding (would it even stop bleeding?) so he told Caspar to wrap the cloth around him really tight. 

Caspar’s movements were clumsy. Linhardt couldn’t tell if it’s because Caspar wasn’t used to addressing wounds or he was nervous. Linhardt had many pointers to give to Caspar when it came to first aid, but he decided to cast aside his complaints for now. 

“Be careful,” Linhardt warned Caspar. Caspar was now carrying him. He would have wrapped his arms around his neck, but that required too much effort for his current state. “I can’t cast any spells in this state.”

Caspar stayed quiet for a moment. “I’ll be careful.”

They stayed quiet. Linhardt listened to Caspar’s footsteps. Sometimes his feet would step on a twig, snapping it in half. 

It was only at this moment, where he was in comfortably in Caspar’s arms, that Linhardt realized how tired he was. He was exhausted. His body felt heavy. 

“Lin?”

“Hm?” 

A vulnerary can only do so much work.

“Sorry, just making sure. Saw you close your eyes. Got a little nervous.”

“You've seen me close my eyes plenty of times,” Linhardt pointed out.

“Yeah but,” there was a frown on Caspar's face. 

There was another moment of silence between the two.

He felt sleepy....sleep...maybe... 

“--y Lin?”

_ Sorry Caspar _ , he said the words, but Linhardt didn’t know if he truly said them aloud.

“---?!”

The darkness...it was warm, as if it was enveloping him in a blanket. It was welcoming him to slumber, so Linhardt decided to sleep.

* * *

“To think I’d see Linhardt in the medical tent, and as a patient too,” Manuela remarked with a frown on her face. Usually he’d be doing the healing, not others healing him. She picked up the disinfect and started cleaning his wounds. Caspar flinched out of reflex, but Linhardt gave no sign of response. Maybe it was a good thing he passed out, the disinfection part was Caspar’s least favorite.

“Will he be okay?” Caspar couldn’t help but ask the question racing through his head. Will Linhardt be okay? Will he?

He’d never seen Linhardt ever do something like this before. It’s not like Linhardt couldn’t be bold, in fact sometimes he was really weird. 

But there was a difference between Lin being Lin, and fighting. Linhardt despised all matters that came to battling: the act itself, the injuries, the blood, even death, he never liked any of it. He always stayed behind, giving support from the back. In fact, he preferred to stay away as far as possible from the action.

Yet…

Yet, Linhardt still trailed after Caspar.

This gave him some sort of feeling of unease in his heart.

Manuela could see worry all over Caspar’s face. “Don’t you worry Caspar, I’ll have him fixed up real soon. He just needs some rest dear,” Manuela reassured him.

Rest...rest was something Linhardt was really good at.

But Caspar couldn’t help but worry looking over his unconscious body.

* * *

When he woke up, he was no longer surrounded by trees. There was no ground with blood around him. And there was no crying Caspar.

He was in a bed, tucked in a warm blanket. 

Linhardt was in the infirmary. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Dorothea said, surprised. “This is by far the longest I’ve ever seen you sleep,” Dorothea lightly jokes, but there was an expression of worry on her face. She was currently watching over Linhardt while Manuela went on a quick supply run. They needed to change his bandages, and make sure the wound was not infected. 

“How many days have passed since the battle?” Linhardt inquired. In all honesty, he was surprised that Caspar wasn’t the one talking to him right now. He would have thought Caspar would have been glued by his bedside, yet he was still missing.

“Four days.”

“Can I make it five,” Linhardt said. He kind of enjoyed this state of dreaming...one where he was safe, where everyone was safe from the reality of war. 

Dorothea said something to him, but he did not hear her. He already passed out. 

* * *

The next time he woke up, he was greeted by Caspar. At first, Caspar did not realize that Linhardt was awake. Linhardt took a moment to look at his friend. He looked the same, yet he looked tired at the same time. Did Caspar not sleep well?

“You’re awake,” Caspar’s voice broke Linhardt out of his thoughts. He looked overjoyed. 

“I am,” Linhardt confirmed. He’s been sleeping on and off for the past week. It seems that he did not have the strongest constitution, and he did not particularly get lucky with his assailant either. Manuela informed him that his wound almost got infected; it seemed that the axe he got hit with was infused with some sort of poison. 

Manuela told him to stay off the front lines for at least three weeks while the wound heals, and thank the goddess, he may have been a little too happy to hear that. Maybe if he was someone else, he would have been distraught to feel so useless to the cause but Linhardt never truly wanted to partake in this war. He hated all of this fighting.

“You’re awake,” Caspar repeated with tears in his eyes.

“Caspar, why are you crying?” Linhardt was shocked to see Caspar cry for the second time. Sure, he’s seen Caspar cry plenty of time but not like this. He understood when Linhardt was bleeding to death in his arms, but why now? Linhardt had no clue as to why he would be crying right now. All Linhardt did was just say two words. 

“I...I heard about the axe,” Caspar said.

“Oh, the one that struck me? Manuela said it had some sort of coating of poison,” Linhardt relayed what he knew about his situation. 

“Yeah and...and everyone told me you’re fine b-but…”

“I am fine,” Linhardt reassured him. Well maybe not exactly fine, but he was no longer on the verge of death

“I was worried you were going to die. You slept for six days Linhardt...I’ve never seen you sleep this long. I thought that…that maybe…” Caspar failed to elaborate on his thoughts, but Linhardt understood what he meant. Perhaps with his plan, he was a little too mean to Caspar. Maybe it would have been a better outcome if he was once again tending Caspar’s wounds, and scolding him. 

Linhardt wanted to reach out and wipe away Caspar's tears, but he still felt weak despite all the sleep he got. 

“But you are alive,” Caspar concluded. He wiped his tears into his sleeve. 

“I am alive.”

“You know Linhardt, for someone who’s really smart you’re an idiot. Why would you do that!” Caspar flippantly changed his attitude. “You’re not trained for close combat, or any combat really. Why would you just...take a hit for me like that?!” he questioned Linhardt

Linhardt frowned. He wasn’t sure why he that too. Well, he knew why. But isn’t this was soldiers got chastised for? For having emotions on the battlefield? Wasn’t one most effective when no emotions tied them down in the heat of the battle. 

He decided to be honest with Caspar. What was the point of lying to Caspar. “I was afraid.”

“Um what? Wouldn’t you have run away if you were afraid,“ Caspar pointed out to him, confused by the answer. 

“At the moment I wasn’t afraid for myself, I was afraid for  _ you _ ,” he clarified.

“Over me? What were you worried over? I should be the one worried over you!” Maybe Caspar did have a point, Linhardt was the one laying in bed with bandaged wrapped around him, and not Caspar. 

“Every day, someone dies because of this war...I. Caspar, I can’t help but fear someday that someone will be you.” Everyone knew how much Linhardt hated this war, but he never admitted his fears aloud. He didn’t voice them. He didn’t voice his fear every time he healed someone he knew. He didn’t voice his fear every time he saw someone get murdered within his vicinity. How long until someone he loves dies? 

“I...I see,” Caspar said quietly. 

“You know I don’t like this war. There’s so much bloodshed around us, and I wonder. How long until it stops? Will the death of those I love come first, or the end of the war?” Linhardt for once voiced his worries aloud. He had many. He often thought about what he was doing here, fighting this war. 

Caspar stayed quiet for a moment, thinking about what to say. “The end of the war. I promise you Linhardt I will not be dying,” he took Linhardt’s hand and squeezed it. Maybe a little too hard, but Linhardt appreciated the sentiment. Maybe this was an empty promise, war was unpredictable, but Linhardt wanted to believe in it. 

“I’ll make sure you won’t.”

“Um, maybe let’s leave the protecting to me,” Caspar said. Linhardt sighed, that’s not what he meant but he let Caspar continue talking. “Your stunt did not go well. Manuela mentioned how your wound would scar,” Caspar frowned.

Linhardt did not have many scars on his body. The only scar he could remember on his body was from the time when he was a kid, and a cat scratched his leg. This was his first battle scar.

“I suppose it’s a good thing it hold meaning then,” Linhardt concluded. He thought it was quite strange how fighters paraded about their scars. Why would you be proud of almost dying? It seemed almost too reckless for Linhardt’s tastes...but he didn’t mind if Caspar was the reason for his scar.

“What do you mean?” Caspar looked at him, intrigued

“What do knights say? ‘I got it protecting you’, or something like that. You know I wouldn’t do anything like this for anyone else.”

It was true, It wasn’t exactly as if Linhardt was a selfish person. He just saw value in his life. He knew his limits. What good would it do him if he was to throw himself in front of someone unless he wished for a death wish. A sword was faster than the few seconds it took a cast a wind spell out of his hand. 

Yet...Caspar made him afraid. Afraid of death. He was afraid of losing Caspar. He hated that this is the reality they lived in. 

Caspar stared at him, his mouth slightly open. “Hold on. Is this a confession because erm...I am very unprepared for this moment,” he admitted, caught off guard by Linhardt’s words. 

“It was not intended to be one, but yes Caspar I do deeply care for you,” the line between platonic and romantic love blurred long ago for Linhardt. Maybe Caspar, he wasn’t sure. They were always together, always following each other. 

“Oh wow um,” Caspar scratched his face thinking of what to say. “That’s great! I know I just yelled at you like a minute ago but, I do love and care about you a lot okay Linhardt...we’ve known each other for sixteen years, I don’t think I could imagine my life without you.”

Sixteen years, they’ve indeed known each other for so long. It’s a surprise they’ve stuck with each other for so long. Or maybe not. Caspar felt like another home to Linhardt. It was a comfortable territory, one he didn’t wish to give up in his life.

“Neither could I,” Linhardt admitted. To think about a time where Caspar wasn’t present in his life was a strange thought for Linhardt to imagine.

Is this a start of something new between them?...A start of something new. That sounded nice. But Linhardt was tired, his wound made him all sorts of uncomfortable. This was a conversation for another day.

“Now what,” Caspar asked, a little dumbfounded. 

“Now I sleep. Goodnight,” he told Caspar as he closed his eyes.

Linhardt could hear his voice. “Linhardt no!”

He chuckled to himself, some things don’t change, even years later. 


End file.
